


Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

by brightsee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mafia AU, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Undercover, cop!bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-21 19:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightsee/pseuds/brightsee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He plays on half truths and full lies, broken hearts and whiskey. All Bellamy needs to do is gain the Griffin's trust, get the evidence he needs, and take down the organization. But things don't always go as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> So I've really grown attached to Peaky Blinders (must watch, btw) and I decided to play on an au of that show for bellarke. Warning, there will be violence and blood involved, depending on the chapters. This will be pretty heavy on bellarke with lictavia, wicken, and possibly jasper/maya, and minty in the background. Thanks to Alyssa and Andrea for helping me edit this chapter. Hope y'all enjoy.

“Blake, get your ass into my office!” 

Bellamy looks up from the report on his computer to see that Sergeant Jaha was standing in the door of his office and moving inside, not even waiting for a response. He caught his partner Atom look curiously at him from across the desk, Bellamy shrugs. There should be no reason why he was being called into the Sergeants office, the past month at the precinct had been pretty quiet with no complaints. 

He pushes himself out of his chair, ensuring to save the documents regarding a recent home invasion and turning the monitor off, and make his way across the open plan office.  
Fellow officers stared up at him as he walked by, smirking because there was no way being called into the Sergeants office was a good thing.

Bellamy closes the door behind him when he enters Jaha’s office, the other man was already behind his desk and reading reports. He takes a seat at the desk, opposite of Jaha, and sits there waiting for him to speak. 

Instead a folder is pushed across the desk and into Bellamy’s hands. “You’re being transferred.”

Confusion crosses his face, brows furrow as he began to reply, “Transferred?”

“To the guns and gangs unit, they need an undercover man,” Jaha explains, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Bellamy with all seriousness. 

Transferred? He’d been on the job four years and had worked mainly on the street, patrolling the neighborhood of 51 division. “But I have no undercover experience,” Bellamy states. 

“They needed an extra man, Miller’s already there but he’s not having any luck breaking them in. It’s been six months already and we need another guy to get in close to the head of the family.”

Bellamy nods and looks down to study the file in his hands. It reads Griffin across the top and on the first page is a picture of Jake Griffin with his information. He flips through it quickly, pictures flashing and pages filled with details on the family. 

“Kane’s head of Project: Free Horse, he’ll fill you in on the details,” Jaha says already turning his attention to his computer and dismissing him. 

Bellamy closes the folder and stands from his chair. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just get the job done, Blake.”

-

Bellamy packs up his desk, giving Atom a brief explanation that he would be gone for the foreseeable future. He didn’t give details, just that he’s been transferred to another unit. He makes his way to the basement of the precinct, where the guns and gangs unit meets up and does their separate briefings. 

Inside the secure room, he finds Kane alone, already there waiting for him. The walls are covered in pictures and files, each individual wall dedicated to the three main mafia families in the district. There were the Griffins, Dante’s Men, and the Trigedakru. The three fought for power and the police fought to bring them down. 

“Take a seat, Blake,” Kane orders as soon as he stepped into the room. He tries not to appear too surprised and curious over his surroundings but it was all new to him. Bellamy has so many questions, mainly why they chose him out of all the other more experienced officers. 

Bellamy sits down at the desk Kane was situated at, the older man leaning against it as he studied the Griffin’s section of the wall. The hierarchy of the family was labelled neatly, starting with Jake Griffin, then his daughter, and then to the many men that follows his orders. They were all photographed, pinned up, labeled, and their roles described. 

“You got your file from Jaha?” Kane questions, turning around to study him. The older man sinks down into his chair, ready to get down to business. 

“Yes, sir.” Bellamy places the file on the table, “Project: Free Horse” typed neatly at the top of the manila folder. 

“We’ve been on this family for years but we can’t seem to cut off the head. We’re aiming to get the manufacturer, leave them powerless and then strike and grab the lot of them.”  
Bellamy’s gaze flickers up over Kane’s shoulder to the wall lined with photos. There were so many in the Griffin clan, he had no idea how they were going to take them down but he was willing to try. 

“We need you to get in close to the head of the family, Jake Griffin. He’s the leader, with his daughter a close second. We have Miller in there now but he’s struggling to get close, they’re keeping him on the outside, they’re not trusting him. We need you to gain their trust,” Kane explains. 

“Got it,” he nods, making mental notes of all his orders.

“How much do you know about the Griffins?” 

“Not much,” Bellamy answers honestly. He’s heard a few bits and pieces, seen a few of the members belonging to Griffin be brought in, but he’s new to the city and precinct. He really doesn’t know much about Ark City and the culture, even if he’s been living there for over a year. 

Kane pushes up off his chair and walks toward the wall, pointing at the head of the Griffin Family. “Jake Griffin, head of the Griffin family. They import and export guns and alcohol, own the little Irish bar on thirty-fourth street called Trinity. They’re a pretty quiet group when compared to the Trigedakru.”

“Trigedakru?” 

“The grounders, they patrol the streets around here. They’re the law among the lawless and aren’t afraid to put a bullet in someone’s head if they step out of line. Then there’s Dante’s Men, they’re new to this area, we don’t know much about them but we got a few guys getting information,” Kane clarifies, before continuing. “We’re working on bringing them all down, got a few men in each family.”

“Miller’s the only one with the Griffins?” 

“And you’ll be the second, they’re not trusting people so we need you to get in there and work some charm. Do whatever you need to survive and get information to take them down.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kane nods, sliding another folder towards him. “Your history. We’ve taken the liberty to delete you from all databases. You have no history with Ark Metropolitan Police Department, as far as you’re concerned you were a janitor for a high school and you’re looking to make some extra money. You know Miller from high school, and that’s all there is about you. You have a long rap sheet for petty theft, done six months in state penitentiary. Don’t give out additional details, the less they know the better.”

Bellamy opens the new folder handed to him, opening it to see various documents with altered information. “Right, when do we get started?”

The older man looks down at his watch before back up at him. “Fourteen hundred, Miller’s meeting you on the corner of Main and Adelaide. Better get going.”  
Bellamy nods, grabbing his things and heading to the elevator. “And Blake,” Kane yells from across the open room. “Good luck and don’t get yourself killed.”

-

By the time he’s supposed to meet Millar, he’s changed out of his uniform, packed up some belongings and moved a few things into the apartment the division gave him. The apartment is a rundown one bedroom on the east end of town, in the poorer parts filled with working families. The division also managed to give him a car, so with the beat up car, he makes his way to the meeting spot. 

Bellamy stands awkwardly on the street corner, dressed down in jeans and a plaid shirt with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He wasn’t sure who “Miller” was or what he looked like, he just hoped the guy showed up soon, he was starting to get weird looks. It wasn’t that he was standing in the bad parts of town, the area around him was built up, he just felt too exposed to possible danger. 

“You must be Blake,” A voice says from behind him, taking Bellamy off guard and jerking away from the owner of the voice. 

Bellamy turns around to a man similar in height and size of himself, but had darker skin and shorter hair. The man, Miller, had on a leather jacket, baggy jeans, and a beanie, with a scruff lined jaw. He didn’t look like the typical police officer, but that’s most likely due to months of undercover work. 

“Nathan Miller,” the man introduces, holding out his hand. Bellamy accepts, giving his hand a firm shake. “You got your car around here?” 

When Bellamy nods and points to over his shoulder, Miller holds out his hand for him to lead the way. When the two are situated in the old Honda Civic, Miller gives him directions. “I already warned them I had a guy coming in,” Miller adds. “You good with everything they gave you?”

“As good as I’ll ever be,” Bellamy mutters, grip tightening on the steering wheel. It felt like he was being sent off to war with little preparation or given the tools necessary to survive. 

“Just stick close to me and go along with everything they say.”

They drive the rest of the way in silence, Bellamy going over every detail of his history that he could. He has an estranged sister, one who had parted ways with a decade ago, and no parents or family left. He is a little lost, looking for something to settle his restlessness and maybe seek a little revenge. 

Griffin’s headquarters is located on the outskirts of town in the countryside, isolated from the suburbs and city life. The last turn leads into a long driveway lined with blooming trees from the start of spring. At the end of the drive sat a large brick mansion littered with cars around the circular car park. 

Bellamy has never seen a house this big, having grown up in a one story house followed by living in a cramped apartment when he moved out. He knew the Griffin family had some money, but not enough to house an army. The mansion is two stories, red brick, white columns at the front porch, and countless windows with black shutters. 

“They live here?” He gapes as he pulls around and parks behind an SUV. 

“A majority of the members live here, it’s a nice place inside,” Miller states, already getting out of the car and walking towards the front door. 

Bellamy hurries after him, trying not to appear too fazed by the magnitude of the house nor the amount of cars that litter out front. Before they could climb the front steps, Miller turns around on him, pausing him with a hand to the chest. 

“Get your game face on, Blake. You’re walking in to the lion’s den and you can’t let it slip. Always stay on your guard, never turn your back, and be prepared to fight.”  
Bellamy nods, pushing the last bit of nerves aside, and steeles his face. “I’m good, let’s go.”

Miller turns back around, not saying another word, and leads him up the front path and porch stairs. He pushes through the front door without hesitation, with Bellamy following close behind. The front foyer is huge with staircases on either side of the room leading to the second floor. A large, crystal chandelier hangs down in the middle, the sun shattering light throughout the giant room. 

Bellamy follows wordlessly through the foyer and towards the back of the house, and into a door on the left. It is a large conference room, a big oak table in the middle, with twenty chairs surrounding it. A few people are sprawled about on laptops, no doubt working, and look up to inspect the intruders. 

At the head of the table sits an older man, early fifties, with grey streaked hair and tired eyes. From the photos that Bellamy had studied earlier, he knows who the man was; Jake Griffin. “Got a new recruit, boss man,” Miller says, announcing their presence to the man. 

Jake slowly looks up from the papers he was going over on the table, his eyes narrowing and landing on Bellamy. “This the one you were talking about?”

“Yes, sir,” Miller replies tersely. 

Bellamy can feel the multitude of eyes staring into him, studying him like he was a target rather than a fledgling member of their crew. Jake seems like he was scrutinizing every inch of him, his gaze starting at his worn looking shoes and finishing with a hard stare into his eyes. “You think you can be a Griffin, son?”

“I know I can,” Bellamy declares with confidence, his chest puffing out slightly. 

Jake smirkes from his spot, “Looks like we got ourselves a fighter.” The others in the room peak up with interest. “Sterling, go get the ring set up and gather everyone. We got a jump in.”

-

“I got your back,” Miller whispers into his ear as Bellamy is being led to the basement. He hasn’t managed to see much of the mansion, instead he was pretty much just dragged down a hallway then a set of wooden stairs. 

Bellamy nods, carefully maneuvering down the stairs with only a dim light casted overhead. When they land at the bottom, an endless room was exposed. It’s all concrete flooring and wooden paneling, the basement seemingly going on forever. 

Miller flicks his chin to the right, “That’s Monty and Jasper’s distillery, best to stay away from it.”

When he looks to the right he catches sight of an elaborate set up, a lab of sorts. Barrels’ line one wall, with what he assumes holds alcohol, while there are tables that hold various glass containers and liquids. 

“Best damn moonshine in the county,” Miller continues before pulling Bellamy to the left. A small gym is set up to the side but the majority of the basement holds what appeared to be a run down boxing ring. 

People are already milling about by the ropes, Jake standing inside the ring conversing with another older man. The members seem to vary in age, some look to be Jake’s age and other appear barely legal. They also vary in ethnicity, meaning they weren’t a true mob family because they most likely weren’t all related. 

Bellamy is hastily pushed into the ring, Miller caught on the other side of the ropes. Jake smiles over to him, breaking conversation with the other man. “This is a new recruit,” Jake explains, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. “Sitwell, this is Bellamy Blake.”

“Nice to meet you,” the other man, Sitwell, grumbles. There are whispered words between the two before Sitwell ducks away and out of the ring. 

Jake never lets go of his shoulder, instead turning him to face the crowd that arises. “We have a new recruit!” Jake announces, his voice booming through the dark and dampened basement. “He must earn his keep, any volunteers?” 

Miller jumps forward, stepping out from the crowd. “I got him.”

“Alright, Miller-”

“Miller’s a pussy, let a real man fight the new guy,” A voice interrupts from the crowd. 

“Then get your ass in here, Murphy,” Jake yells, eyeing the man who quickly pushes his way through the crowd and into the ring. 

Bellamy looks back to Miller to see him shrug helplessly, there’s nothing that he could do. He’s still new to them, was still earning his own keep, he didn’t have a say in who Bellamy has to fight. The guy is close to Bellamy’s age, mid-twenties, with long hair sweeping across his beady eyes. His mouth was firmly placed between a frown and snarl as he stares Bellamy down. 

Jake lets go of his shoulder and pulls Murphy up to stand with them. “You knock Murphy on his ass and you’ll earn a place here,” Jake confides to Bellamy before turning outward to the crowd. “Place your bets!” And then turns to the two men beside him, “and say your prayers.”

Bellamy goes to the far corner and removes his plaid shirt to reveal a white v-neck. Murphy does the same, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it to another member. They meet in the middle by Jake, “We got Bellamy versus Murphy.”

Jake smiles at the two and stepped back, allowing a woman this time to step into the ring. She’s young with wild blonde hair pulled back into a bun. She give Jake a smile as he leaves the ring and addresses the two. “I want a clean fight,” she demands, her voice raspy and not at all what Bellamy expects. “No dick moves, Murphy.”

“Whatever,” Murphy grumbls, his attention focused solely on Bellamy. 

“Good luck,” the blonde whispers before stepping back and blowing a whistle, letting the fight begin. 

Murphy holds his fists out which Bellamy bumps lightly and backs away. They circle each other for a few seconds, sizing one another up. Bellamy knows he has a few pounds of muscle up on the other guy, he was scrawny but has a gleam of fearlessness in his eyes. 

Bellamy can feel his stomach contract with a bout of nerves and acts on impulse to push them away, throwing the first punch. He gets Murphy twice on jabs to the chin, the third punch is blocked and a swift undercut was sent into his ribs. 

Another punch is thrown into his side and has Bellamy crumbled over, which gives Murphy leverage to get a punch into his jaw. Bellamy stumbles back, giving him distance from his opponent and a moment to grab a quick breath. He takes a quick step forward, catching Murphy’s nose with a punch, then a right hook, and an undercut. 

Murphy is momentarily stunned by the attack allowing Bellamy to get a few more hits in, some landing repeatedly into his ribs. Murphy manages to get his hands on Bellamy’s chest and pushes him away with a sharp intake of breath. Bellamy closes the small distance, clipping Murphy’s jaw with another right hook. 

The cheers are loud around them, many calling out in Murphy’s name as they urge him on. Bellamy catches Jake’s eye from the outside of the crowd, his face stoic as he watches the fight. The girl who is referring shares the same facial expression, but with a slight turn of her lips in amusement. 

That's Bellamy’s first mistake, he takes his eyes off his opponent for one second but it’s enough time for Murphy to right himself and lunge at him. Bellamy is knocked flat on his back, his head hitting the concrete with some force. He’s winded and disoriented as Murphy gives him blow after blow. 

Blood is coming away with Murphy’s knuckles and Bellamy feels his cheekbone crack under the pressure, pain radiating through his face. Bellamy groans, trying to gain momentum to get the other guy off him. He pushes his arms out, giving him enough room to throw punches into Murphy’s already bruised ribs.

When Murphy flinches after the third hit, his hand on reflex flying to his side, it gives Bellamy the opportunity to flip the two so he is now on top. Bellamy starts his assault, throwing countless punches into Murphy and drawing blood. As he stares down at his opponent, Bellamy noticed Murphy’s eyes begin to flutter close as unconsciousness crept in around him. 

The woman is right there beside him, waiting until Murphy was out cold before blowing a whistle to signal the end of the fight. Bellamy is quick to his feet, walking away from the body and blood on the floor. 

“We have a winner!” The blonde announces to the cheering crowd. “Bellamy Blake, the new recruit!”

Bellamy wipes the back of his arm across his face, collecting sweat and blood. His knuckles hurt and his cheek is pulsing and bleeding, and he feels his eye begin to swell shut.  
The crowd seems to cheer louder when Murphy is swept up by two guys and taken out of the ring. 

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Miller suggests, seemingly appearing from nowhere. 

Bellamy barely gives him a look but allows Miller to lead him through the crowd and up the stairs. “You did well.” He comments, throwing a smile over his shoulder.  
He manages a grunt in agreement, his jaw too sore to offer any words. He doesn’t seem to mind as he turns back around, navigating through the first floor of the house. “We have  
a med room here, for fights or if things go south on a run.”

He’s taken through a large living room filled with couches and a large bar, a few members seated and talking amongst themselves. They don’t even acknowledge Bellamy but when Miller chirps a welcome, they gave a small wave before turning back to their conversation. 

Miller leads him to a small room by the front of the house, one which houses a rows of medical supplies and a cushioned examination table. “Clarke usually handles these types of things but I think she’s off dealing with Murphy.”

Bellamy lifts his shirt, fingers softly grazing his tender ribs. They aren’t broken, the pain there wasn’t sharp or intruding but rather a dull ache. He drops his shirt back and sits on the table, hands resting on his knees. 

Miller grabs a few supplies, setting them on the small worktop beside Bellamy. He quickly gets to work, quietly cleaning up the blood from his knuckles and face. He places small bandages to hold a cut across his brow together, and other across his cheekbone. 

“I don’t think you broke anything in your hand,” Miller notes, studying Bellamy’s right hand. The blood was gone and there wasn’t much swelling, just a few scratches to his knuckles. 

He’s given an ice pack to place over his swelling eye, the cold refreshing to the sore wound. “Fuck that hurts,” Bellamy mutters, applying some pressure to the pack. 

“Could be worse,” a voice proposes suddenly from the doorway. 

Bellamy quickly turns his head to the intruder, the blonde from downstairs now leaning against the doorframe. “No broken bones, just a bit of swelling,” Miller reports, moving to clean up the small mess they made. 

“Good,” the woman smiles, her blue eyes dark and cautious. From the short distance and calming circumstance, Bellamy begins to recognize her. It’s the daughter, Clarke Griffin. There wasn’t much information on her, just that she lead the younger members named the delinquents. “You still have your second part of initiation.”

“There’s more?” 

Clarke hums, “This was just the beginning, to see if you’re worthy. You’ll have to do much more damage to be a Griffin.”


	2. Initiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s more to his initiation. Apparently getting the shit kicked out of him, and fighting back, isn’t enough for the Griffins. No, why would it be? That’d be too easy.

There’s more to his initiation. Apparently getting the shit kicked out of him, and fighting back, isn’t enough for the Griffins. No, why would it be? That’d be too easy. Bellamy wants to ask Miller about it but the other man remains quiet as he cleans up the med room. 

He’s then led back to the conference room, his ribs protesting slightly under the pull of muscles. Three others are already seated, younger members barely adults. Miller drops Bellamy off and leaves, offering no final words or advice. 

Clarke sits at the head of the table, the same position Jake had occupied an hour before. She taps away on her phone looking bored, while the others talk quietly amongst themselves. There are two other girls, beside Clarke, and one guy. The girls look rough, frowns permanently in place and eyes set hard as steel. The guy seems no softer than the females but quietly eyes Bellamy as he walks into the room. 

Bellamy takes a seat beside one of the females, her hair pulled back into intricate braids. She offers him a small smile, “You’re the new guy, right? I’m Monroe.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bellamy replies, offering a quirk of the lips and a smile in response. 

The other girl leans forward around Monroe, “Where’d you come from?”

“Atlanta,” he answers automatically, the lie falling effortlessly from his lips. “Moved up here when my mother died.”

She hums in response, her face almost turning to an expression of pity. “Name’s Harper, and that’s Sterling.” 

Bellamy gives them a nod with the tilt of his chin. His attention drawn to Clarke, seeming to ignore the conversation. Bellamy sits there awkwardly, massaging his knuckles, and listening in on the quiet conversation between the two girls and Sterling. 

“We’re just waiting on Murphy,” the blonde finally says, not bothering to look up from her phone where she continues to type away. 

“Why’s he coming?” Harper moans.

Sterling barks out a laugh, “The guy has a knack for finding the psychotic.”

“We need him,” Clarke answers, finally putting her phone away. 

Monroe tilts her head, looking over to Clarke. “But isn’t this a job for the newbie?” 

She looks from Monroe to Bellamy, eyes darkening and a smirk curling the edge of her lips. “It is, but we’ll need Murphy for back up.”

A shiver runs down his spine from the way she’s looking at him and the prospect of what they’ll make him do. He’s heard that some crime families offer initiation by killing, and he’s not going to kill a man for it. His job as an officer is to protect people, to help them in their hour of need, not to kill someone because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time or because they got on the wrong side of a crime family. 

Yet, as much as his ethics screams against violent acts as a police officer, he’s technically not playing the role of one. Right now he’s a janitor looking to make a little extra money and find a place for himself. He doesn’t need his cover blown, he’ll have to do whatever they want him to. He has a job to do and the task force really needs him to complete it. 

The door opens moments later to a bloody looking Murphy, who looks just about how he feels. “You rang, boss lady?”

“Sit down, we got a new assignment,” she orders, her tone no-nonsense. 

Murphy sinks down into the chair beside Sterling and leans back. He briefly glares at Bellamy, his gaze burning a hole in the side of his face, but he chooses to ignore it and focuses on Clarke. “The grounders found the snitch who reported our cigars from last month.”

“He in Trigedakru territory?” Monroe inquires. 

“Do you have a picture?” Harper asks right after in rapid fire succession. 

Clarke slides her phone across the table to Harper who is the closest. “Yeah, they found him at Grounders, said he’s been there the past few nights. They’re keeping an eye on him but are letting us take care of it.”

“How kind of them,” Murphy scoffs, eyes rolling. 

Bellamy can feel the tension in the room, between the leader and Murphy. He has very limited information on the Trigedakru, but from the conversation in the room and Murphy’s reaction, there has to be history between the two families. 

“You got a problem, Murphy?” Monroe sneers, leaning forward over the table and ready to pounce. 

His eyes harden as he glares at Monroe. “Not at all.” His gaze softens slightly and shifts to Clarke, “What’s the game plan?”

“We let the newbie take it,” she smirks, bringing all attention on him.

All eyes shift to Bellamy, almost identical smirks on each of their faces. “We all had to do it,” Sterling says proudly. “Didn’t have to kill a man like Murphy, but I mean kneecapping is pretty gruesome. Imagine hearing the crunch beneath a crowbar, terrible sound.”

Bellamy shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the details. He can’t imagine these kids, barely adults, all having to do horrible things to become a Griffin. He pushes aside his morality, all his beliefs and values to accomplish this assignment. “Who’s the mark?”

Harper hands the phone to him and begins to explain. “Gary Campbell, police informant. He’s been on our radar for quite some time, even given him a warning but he’s stepped out of line. Costs us a lot of money last month by snitching on a shipment we had come in.”

Bellamy studies the photograph, a side profile of a short and burly man. He’s not the ideal picture for a snitch, but he has that nasty appeal that just screams no good. “What do you need me to do?”

Clarke pushes up from the table, “That’s for us to know and you to find out. Let’s go.”

“This is going to be so good,” Murphy boasts, following Clarke out of the conference room. At least Harper and Monroe give him encouraging smiles, and Sterling doesn’t say anything. He’s not feeling too confident on what they want him to do, but he’s willing to fake it. 

-

The six of them arrive at a bar called Grounders just before nine when the evening crowd begins to pick up. Monroe explains they’re not allowed on Trigedakru turf unless they're invited, this time they’re invited for the purpose of the snitch. Harper tells him that they’re allowed this mission because it’s a small one, didn’t have much to do with the club, and  
Clarke could easily handle it with the help of a few of the delinquents. 

Bellamy hangs back when they enter the bar, Clarke and Murphy leading the small pack of them. Monroe, Harper, and Sterling are close behind, eyes furiously scanning the relatively empty room. They get hard stares as they saunter through the room, all eyes on them. 

Clarke veers off to the right towards the bar to talk to a man, tattoo’s swirling up the side of his neck and onto the sides of his scalp. He doesn’t hear what they’re talking about but the bartender points out a man sitting alone at the back of the room. Bellamy immediately recognizes this guy as the snitch. 

Murphy and Sterling take the lead, walking over to the older man. “We need to have a little talk,” Murphy snarls, lifting the man onto his feet. 

Sterling grabs his other arm, the two men practically dragging the snitch out the back door. Clarke follows behind, then the Monroe and Harper, and then Bellamy. He’s trying to remain calm about the whole situation, especially after reading all the terrible things these type of people do. 

The snitch is pushed against the side of the building once outside, Murphy holding him up with a firm hold on his neck. The man struggles against his hold, trying to gasp out apologies and pleas. Sterling backs away to stand by the girls, all three drawing a gun and aiming it at the snitch. 

The grin on Clarke’s lips is cold and calculating. She’s standing just behind Murphy, studying the man and almost laughing as he tries to escape. It’s like she’s playing with her food before she eats it, taunting before the torture. 

“Do you know why we’re here today, Mr. Campbell?” She drawls lazily, bringing out a knife from within her coat and twirling it between her fingers. 

Murphy’s grip loosens slightly, moving so it’s off the windpipe. “I didn’t do anything, I swear! The grounders, they’re filthy rats, they set me up!” The snitch cries out.  
Clarke barks out a laugh and steps closer to the man, “I think you’re the filthy rat here.”

“I swear to fucking God, it wasn’t me!” Campbell yells out, his body jerking forward as he fights against Murphy’s hold. 

A loud shot rings out in the alley from behind Bellamy, causing him to jump at the sudden loud sound. A shriek is released from the snitch, and it takes him a second to realize that Harper had shot the man in the leg. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

“Relax, Mr. Campbell,” Clarke soothes, her voice a dark calm. “It wasn’t the Trigedakru, it was a copper on our payroll.” The blonde smirks, knife dangling limply from her fingers, 

“It’s best to be aware of who you trust. Not everyone is as loyal as a Griffin.”

Bellamy tries desperately to take this all in, his mind running a million miles per minute. An officer on their payroll, someone who the department trusts is under control of the Griffins, and is being paid to protect them. It makes him sick thinking about the very idea of someone betraying the trust of the department, something he holds dearly. 

“Although,” Clarke mused, “after we’re done with you I find you’ll never snitch on our family again.”

Murphy chuckles, grip tightening back up as the man tries to beg. “If you do, next time it will be your death.”

“You ready, rookie?” Clarke questions, turning to Bellamy. 

He’s frozen in place, unable to take his eyes off the man who’s fighting to escape. There’s silent tears streaking his chubby cheeks, his face almost a bright red from limited oxygen. Someone nudges him forward with the barrel of their handgun, Sterling most likely. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out and steps forward. 

Clarke waves at the man, “Beat him until he’s within an inch of his life.”

“Make the bastard suffer,” Murphy adds. 

Bellamy squeezes his fists closed, bruised knuckles aching at the movement. Was this the way they handled all their punishments? By fighting? He was still sore from the fight with Murphy only hours ago and now they were throwing him back in the ring. 

There’s a pressure on his chest, constricting his breathing, and a heavy weight on his shoulders. His head is fuzzy, swimming with so many thoughts and feelings. Relief; he doesn’t have to kill the man. Dread; he has to beat the man. Hope; this will be the last thing they’ll ask him to do. Duty; he needs to get the job done. Disgust; this is what they do to men that do them wrong. 

“Get going, Blake,” Sterling growls from behind him. 

“Unless you’re too scared, can’t handle what we do.” Murphy sneers. 

Clarke stares at him, studying and sizing him up. Her arms cross her chest, “You know what we do to men that are too scared to join us?”

Bellamy shakes his head, he really doesn’t want to know. He steps up to the snitch, ready for a fight which quiets Clarke. Murphy suddenly lets go and backs away, taking Bellamy by surprise as the man lunges for him. 

It seems that the others have stepped away from the scene because there’s so much room for Bellamy to move, grabbing onto the snitch and throwing him onto the ground. A groan comes from the snitch when his head falls back and hits the ground. 

There’s less of a struggle, seemingly too tired to fight back. Murphy lets out disapproval that Bellamy ‘has it easy because the bastard isn’t even fighting back’. He pays him no mind as he kneels on the ground beside the still body. Horrified eyes stare up at him, and a whispered “help” is all he hears or sees.

After that, everything seems to move quickly. 

It feels like seconds later when Bellamy is standing over the body, blood covering the ground, his hands, and the snitch. He doesn’t even remember throwing any punches, but his knuckles are split open and bleeding again. The man is unconscious on the ground, his breathing shallow, and that’s how he knows he got the job done. 

“Good job, newbie,” Harper congratulates. 

Monroe gives him a firm slap on the back, following after Sterling and Harper who were leading the way out of the alley. Murphy hovers for a second, “Just because you were able to do this doesn’t make you a Griffin.”

Murphy stalks off leaving him alone with Clarke. Bellamy looks back on the man, still lying unconscious in his own blood. It makes him sick seeing what he’s done but his stomach hardens, he needs to be stronger if he wants to survive this undercover assignment. 

He finally meets Clarke’s gaze and her firm emotionless expression gives nothing away. She doesn’t look pleased, nor disappointed, nor surprised. “Murphy’s right,” she finally says.

“What else do I need to prove to you?” He growls, uncaring if he’s being rude to a head of the organization. 

“Your loyalty.”

Nothing else is said as Clarke waltzes past him out of the alley. He follows close behind, never once looking back at the mutilated body. Bellamy feels like he needs a drink, or ten, after the day he’s had. 

-

When they return to the mansion, he’s led to the large living room and bar area. About twenty people are milling about, some on the couches while others stand and talk, or even a few playing a game of pool in the corner. A large bar fills the length of the wall, with tall stools tucked away underneath the counter. 

Clarke goes straight behind the bar, kicking out the person playing bartender. Harper, Monroe, and Sterling are drawn towards the small group of people their age by the pool table. Murphy follows Clarke’s lead and heads to sit at the bar. 

He’s not really sure where to go, but he spots Miller conversing with an Asian kid with a mop of dark hair partly covering his eyes. Bellamy’s about to make his way over when a hand grips his shoulder, stopping him from moving further into the room. 

Bellamy turns around when the hand is removed and finds it was Jake who had stopped him. “I’d like a word with you, Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy gulps, nodding nervously. Shit, does he know that Bellamy is a snitch as well? Jake definitely knows something, with the way he’s staring at him with hard eyes and pursed lips. He follows Jake as he weaves through the room, back to the front hall and into an office just beside the conference room. 

Its dark green walls covered in pictures, large cherry wood desk, high back chair, and a small bar. Jake goes straight to the bar, filling a crystal glass with amber liquid. “Would you like some scotch?” He questions, turning around. 

“Please,” Bellamy replies, closing the door behind him as he steps into the room. 

Jake hands Bellamy a glass and gestures to one of the leather chairs while he takes the high back chair behind the desk. Bellamy obeys, sliding down into the seat. He takes a sip of the scotch, feeling the burn as it slides down the back of his throat. 

“So I see you’ve returned to us, that means you completed the initiation,” Jake notes, leaning back in his chair studying Bellamy. 

“Yes, sir.”

“And how was it?”

His stomach rolls at the thought of all the blood, some of it staining his clothes. “Bloody,” he croaks. 

Jake nods, understanding. “Campbell had it coming for him, you can’t play on both sides of the fence without getting caught.”

Bellamy gulps down the rest of his scotch, feeling uneasy with the conversation. “He got what he deserved then,” he says, feigning confidence. He doesn’t believe what he’s saying, but he acts like he understands the reasoning of it all, even when he obviously doesn’t. But it’s their way of life, how they handle things. Bellamy understands this. 

“Of course he did! He got his warnings, we gave him time to turn himself in to us. He had his chance to do the right thing and he never took it.” Jake explains. He finishes his own drink, slamming the empty glass on the table. “Do you plan on giving us your loyalty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Even after what we made you do today? You’re willing to give yourself fully over to us, do whatever we ask, no questions?” Jake inquires, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the desk. 

“My allegiance is to this family, even if I’m not a part of it yet.” He responds, giving the answers he doesn’t necessarily believe in but knows the other man needs to hear. 

Jake slowly smiles, a brief upturn of the corner of his lips. “That’s just what I wanted to hear.” 

Bellamy breathes a sigh of relief, feeling like he just passed the first real test. 

“Now on to the more important matter,” the other man says, filling the brief pause of silence. “I need you to watch Clarke.”

Bellamy furrows his brows. “I’m not quite sure I understand.”

“You have a sister don’t you, Blake?” When Bellamy nods, Jake continues. “You ever feel the need to protect her? To make sure she never hurts herself? To make sure you’re there to reel her back in when she goes too far?”

“Every second,” he answers honestly. 

“I knew there was something about you that I could trust, even if you’re new here.” Jake remarks, “I want you to be there to watch her, make sure she doesn’t go too far.” 

A picture frame resting on the desk was turned around to Bellamy, revealing two smiling woman. One an older woman and the other was Clarke, a few years younger and wearing a happy smile. Bellamy studies it for a second, gaze flicking to Jake with confusion. 

“She used to be this happy girl, even born into a family like ours. But then she grew up and her mother died and someone she loved died by her side,” he recalled, his voice strained like he was stuck in the memory. “She’s never been the same, and as a father I worry about her. She’s reckless and ruthless, out for blood.”

Everything Jake was telling him suddenly made sense to Bellamy. It explained her cold attitude, how she never smiled, and seemed to revel in the moment of punishment only hours ago. That woman who smiled down at the bloody snitch was not the same woman in that picture. 

“So you want me to watch her?” Bellamy questions, needing all the details. 

Jake nods. “I’ll make sure you’re part of her assignments and you make sure she stays away from the edge. One day she’ll do something she won’t be able to take back and she’ll break. She’s my baby girl, I’m just looking out for her and I need your help.”

He notices the pain reflected in Jake’s eyes and the immense amount of love in his voice. “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Jake sighs, pushing up out of his chair.

Bellamy stands as well, taking Jake’s offered hand. He’s tugged forward over the desk, Jake’s hand gripping his firmly. He locks eyes, blue eyes blazing in his. “If you fuck this up, betray my trust or hurt my girl, I’ll kill you,” Jake whispers, so low and dark that it sends shivers up Bellamy’s spine. 

“Yes, sir,” he manages in reply, his mouth dry. 

“Now let’s get out there,” Jake roars, letting go of Bellamy’s hand, and his demeanor now cheerful. 

Bellamy follows Jake back out to the living room where everyone was situated and drinking. Miller is still talking to the guy from before, Clarke still behind the bar and laughing with a pretty Latina. Jake grabs two beers from behind the bar and hands one to Bellamy. 

“We must celebrate,” he exclaims, turning to the other members in the room. “We have a new recruit among us, a future Griffin! Bellamy Blake.”

He tries to manage a smile, one to show that he’s proud of his accomplishments of the day. He grips his beer a little tighter, feeling all eyes on him. Miller offers a salute with his drink and a tilt of his head in acknowledgment. 

“He’s not quite a Griffin yet,” Jake starts off his toast, raising his own beer in the air. “But we welcome him as one of our own, may one day you become one of us.”

“Cheers!” The group sang together, knocking glasses and swinging back their drink. 

Bellamy taps his own glass with Jake, taking a large gulp of his beer. It slides down the back of his throat and the foamy, light taste is a welcome relief. Jake leaves his side once it’s quieted down and the attention is off him. Bellamy sinks down into the bar stool next to Miller.

The guy he was talking to quickly disappeared back to the other younger members who hung around the pool table. Miller watches him go before looking back up to Bellamy.  
“How was it?” He questions, taking a sip of his own beer. 

Bellamy shrugs. “I didn’t have to kill anyone.”

Miller snorts, pointing down to his blood-covered shirt. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“Just beating the shit out of snitches,” he replies, downing the rest of his beer. 

“And what did Jake want?”

“He wanted me to stay on Clarke, watch and protect her,” Bellamy admits. 

Miller seems just as confused as Bellamy is but doesn’t question him further. He stands from his stool. “Let’s forget about it. We got free drinks here, we’ll get you a clean shirt and I’ll introduce you to the other delinquents.”

Bellamy obliges, following Miller to the far side of the room where the younger members are sitting. It always feels like he’s following someone, as if he’s lost in this little world. Fuck, he’s definitely out of his element. Its only been a day and he feels like he’s drowning. 

Miller seems to sense his unease and detours to where Clarke is tending the bar, leaning on the counter. He shoots her a smirk. “Can I get two shots of vodka?”

Clarke eyes them but quickly turns around to grab at Grey Goose and pours two shots, not a single word spoken. The Latina woman eyes him but doesn’t bother saying a word to either him or Miller before walking away. Clarke moves off to the far side of the bar, serving Murphy another drink, again leaving without a word. 

“She doesn’t seem to like me much,” Bellamy notes, unable to take his eyes off the blonde. 

“She doesn’t like me either, she’s a tough shell to crack,” Miller replies, picking up his shot glass. Bellamy grabs his, clinks it with Miller and throws it back. “Let’s go meet the other delinquents.”

Bellamy squints, looking over to the group. “Why are they called delinquents?”

“All been to juvie. I think that’s where Clarke pulled them from. She had a little stint when she was seventeen and acquired this group,” Miller explains, a slight shrug of his shoulders. 

They reach the group of young adults, all varying in ages between eighteen and twenty four. There is a few brief moments of awkward silence before a gangly kid jumps forward,  
“Newbie!”

“It’s Blake,” he grumbles. 

The kid has goggles on the top of his head, his clothes wrinkled and well loved. “I’m Jasper Jordan, master bootlegger.”

Another coughs from behind him and Jasper spins around, seeing the Asian Miller was talking to earlier was glaring at him. Jasper pulls him forward, arm wrapped around his shoulders. “And this is Monty, fellow master bootlegger. But also he’s a damn good engineer.”

“Nice to meet you,” Monty smiles, reaching out to shake his hand. 

“I thought I was the best engineer here?” Another questions. 

“If you could get one of your designs to work.“ The Latina quips, smirking at a taller, blonde guy who introduces himself as Wick at the back. 

“That’s Raven,” Jasper points to the girl, who grunts at Bellamy before moving over to Wick and whispering something in his ear. “You’ve met Monroe, Harper, and Sterling,” he says, looking over to the three that were playing a game of pool. “Welcome to the club, now try this.”

A glass filled with clear liquid is shoved into Bellamy’s hand. “What is it?”

“Something we’ve been working on,” Monty supplies, smiling at him. 

“Careful, they’re drinks are deadly,” Miller states, smirking at Bellamy. 

Jasper nods at him, encouraging him for a taste. Bellamy lifts the glass slowly to his noise and takes a sniff. The strong smell causes him to cough, “Fuck, that smells like gasoline.”

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t taste like it,” Monty boasts. 

Bellamy cautiously brings the glass to his lips, trying not to breathe in the toxic smell. He takes a small sip, the strong taste scraping down his throat, gagging at the taste.  
Miller slaps him on the back, slipping the glass of moonshine out of his hand. “You’ll get used to the taste.”

Bellamy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m sure.”

“How about a game of pool? Test newbie’s skills,” Raven suggests, sliding up to Jasper and Monty. “New guy and Miller versus me and Monty.”

“What about me?” Jasper whines, giving Raven a puppy dog look.

“You can play loser,” she says, already turning around to gear up the table. 

“Good luck,” Monty smirks, his gaze moving to Miller before adding, “You’ll need it.”

“Oh, you’re so on, Green!” Miller argues, laughing and following Monty towards the pool table. 

Bellamy watches the playful banter that Monty and Miller engage in while Raven sets up the table. Jasper sulks but is soon swept up in a conversation with Wick about the latest batch of moonshine. There’s a kinship within the group of young adults, one that must come within their circumstances. 

The game gets underway, Bellamy easily fitting in with the younger group, even if he was the oldest one there by a few years. His focus occasionally shifted to Clarke who was still tending bar and occasionally talking to other members. He wondered why she wasn’t with the delinquents, she seemed isolated. He was quickly brought back to the game when it was his next turn, Miller pulling his attention away from the blonde. 

-

Bellamy had lost count of the amount of games the delinquents had played of pool. He thinks they were on their fourth game and were arguing who would be playing the last loser. Bellamy quietly ducks out of their argument and towards the bar for another drink, one that wasn’t moonshine. 

The living room had died down, leaving just the delinquents and a few older members who were in an intense game of poker. Jake was nowhere to be seen, most likely retiring for the night or working. Murphy was chatting to a woman, not one of the delinquents he’s met but she was young. 

Clarke was working on a beer, twirling it between her fingers as she read something off her laptop. Bellamy sat down on the stool across from where she stood on the opposite side of the bar. “Can I get a beer?” He asks after a few moments where she didn’t register his presence. 

The blonde sighs in irritation before moving to the fridge, pulling out a beer and setting it on the table. Bellamy used the edge of the bar to break off the cap and took a long swig. It’s been such a long day and all he wants to do is crawl into bed but he doesn’t feel ready to leave yet. 

After a few moments of silence Clarke speaks up, “May I help you with something?”

“Nope,” Bellamy smirks, taking a sip of his beer. 

Clarke turns her attention back to her laptop, moving it two inches to the left as to put some space between them. After a few more awkward minutes, Clarke shuts her laptop to glare at Bellamy. “Why are you still sitting here?”

“Because I can?”

“Whatever,” she grumbles, picking up her laptop about to leave. 

“Hey, I’m sorry, you just looked like you could use some company,” he calls out to her. 

Clarke pauses, slowly turning around. Her lips set in a frown, a furrow between her brows. “I was fine by myself.”

“Sorry,” Bellamy mutters, sensing the hint of anger rolling off her. “I just-can I ask you something?”

She moves back to where she stood moments before, raising an eyebrow. “Depends.”

“Why give him a beating?”

Clarke shifts, finishing off her beer, and leans her elbows on the bar top. “Send a message.”

Bellamy frowns, “A message?”

“We can’t be seen as weak, to show that just about anyone can walk all over us,” she explains. “Rats like him need to be punished, to show others that we don’t tolerate betrayal.” 

“But he could have died.”

Clarke purses her lips. “He didn’t. We let him live, that’s the important thing to remember. Others aren’t so lucky, especially those who betray this family.”

Bellamy doesn’t get to ask any more questions, Clarke is already gone. Her words sit heavy in his thoughts, no doubt wondering what will happen to him when they find out his true reason for being there. But that’s down the line, he can’t think like that now. 

He needs to focus on his job. First finding out the manufacturer and suppliers, that’s what he’s there for, not to protect and care for Clarke Griffin. His betrayal is imminent but hopefully the family won’t be around when that time comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure if i'm going to continue this, let me know what you think.


End file.
